


A Trial of Pure Fire

by triedunture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink_bingo prompt "gangbang." Takes place slightly before 4x20 The Rapture. Castiel is dragged back to heaven to be punished for forgetting his place, and Dean is forced to watch the punishment be meted out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trial of Pure Fire

_**Supernatural fic: A Trial of Pure Fire**_  
Title: A Trial of Pure Fire  
Pairing: Cas/a metric ton of OC angels; Dean/Cas UST  
Length: 5300 words  
Rating: NC17  
Warnings: Cas!whumping, groupsex, gangbang, noncon/dubcon, voyeurism

Summary: For the kink_bingo prompt "gangbang." Takes place slightly before 4x20 The Rapture. Castiel is dragged back  
to heaven to be punished for forgetting his place, and Dean is forced to watch the punishment be meted out.

  
<><><><>

When Castiel is dragged back to heaven by Zachariah, Dean thinks it amounts to little more than a trip to the principal's office. He figures Cas might get a harsh dressing-down about the importance of the host's ultimate goal and the dangers of getting too close to the mud monkeys on earth. At least, that's what Anna made it sound like. So Dean isn't too worried, not at first.

That first night without Cas, sitting outside a scummy motel room and looking up at the stars, Dean sends up a small prayer: _Don't let them get to you, Cas. Keep fighting the good fight._

He gets up from the cracked concrete sidewalk, brushes off his jeans, and turns to go back into the rented room; it's late and he wants to sleep. But Dean finds his path blocked by a tall Asian woman, thin as a rail, dressed in a sharp cream pantsuit, and staring at him with piercing black eyes.

"Oh, hey," Dean says, trying for casual, giving her his most crooked smile. "Sorry if it's an old line, but what's a lady like you doing in a place like this? Was the Hilton booked up?"

"I am Raguel," she says. Her voice is like iron.

The smile drops. Dean stands a little straighter, wishes he'd brought his gun with him, but it's inside on the table, waiting to be cleaned. Not that it would do much good. "Another angel, huh?"

She nods. "I am to bring you to trial."

"Trial? What the hell did I do?"

"You are not the accused. You are a witness." She reaches out a slim hand and grips Dean's forearm with enough strength to make his bones creak. Dean struggles in her grip, but she doesn't so much as blink. There's a burst of white light, the same roller-coaster feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach that he gets every time Cas zaps him someplace. He opens his eyes to find himself somewhere else.

The room is cold and windowless. The floor is bare concrete, the walls are colorless, cracked, flaking, mildewed. Cas is in the center of this place, on his knees, his head bowed, his hands lashed behind his back with rope. There's blood running down the side of his face and from his nose. A crowd of angels in costumes of human flesh and Secret Service uniforms form a semi-circle around him, their faces like stone. Zachariah is there. He looks up and sees Dean, still held in place by the angel Raguel. His beady eyes light up.

"Dean!" Zach claps his hands together and rubs them briskly, like he's about to have a delicious meal. "Glad you could make it."

Castiel lifts his head slowly and fixes one eye on Dean. The other eye is too swollen to open. He opens his cracked lips to form the syllable of Dean's name, voice silent.

"What the—?" Dean surges forward, but Raguel holds him fast. "What are you doing to him?"

"You're asking the wrong questions, _AH-gain_ ," Zachariah sighs, pacing around Cas to come closer to Dean. "First question should be: what is this place? I'll have you know, Dean Winchester, you are one of the very few living mortals to be welcomed body and soul into the far reaches of heaven." He stops a few inches in front of Dean's face and leans in close. "You should be flattered. We've spared no expense in modifying the decor so that your tiny little human mind can process it all." He gestures widely around the room. "And what we've got here is a court-marshal for our dear brother. We kept him in his Jimmy meat-suit; thought that would be more familiar for you, but if you'd rather I can snap my fingers and turn him into Tina Turner, or whatever. Just say the word."

"You son of a bitch," Dean spits. "I thought hell had cornered the market on torture."

"Torture?" Zach turns to stare at Castiel's bloodied face. "Oh! You think he's— Well, Dean, that's just precious, because let me tell you another thing." Leans in again, way too close. "We're just getting started on little Cassie."

If Raguel didn't have freaky strength, Dean is sure Zach wouldn't have any teeth right about now. He growls, "Raggedy Annie here told me there was supposed to be a trial. I'm a witness, right? Don't you have to listen to what I got to say before you dole out the punishment?"

Zach pauses at that, then shakes his head like a kindly uncle dealing with an impetuous boy. "Oh, Dean, Dean, _Dean_! You are too much sometimes." His hand darts forward, grabbing Dean's chin and crushing it between his immortal-strong fingers. His voice dips low and dangerous. "The trial's over. The sentence is passed. And part of Castiel's punishment is having you here to witness it."

Zach releases him and walks away, calling to the assembled angels: "Places, everyone! Call me when the number's over."

"You can't do this!" Dean shouts after him, but Zachariah just slips through a door in the back.

"He can," Raguel says. It's the first she's spoken since their arrival, and if anything she sounds more hard and cold. "Castiel's crimes are inexcusable. Justice must be served so the others see what happens when orders are disobeyed."

"Cas didn't—" Well, Dean can't say Cas always obeyed orders to the letter. Yeah, the guy has done some fucked-up shit. But he's also saved his ass, and Sam's, in ways Dean doesn't think he'll ever be able to repay. So he's got to speak up for him now, even if it means being on heaven's shit list. "Cas was only doing what needed to be done," he amends.

"Perhaps," Raguel responds, unimpressed. "But he should never put humans before his own brothers. That sin is not easily forgiven."

As she speaks, Castiel is grabbed by some of the other angels. They take hold of his trussed arms and drag him forward, his knees scraping along the ground. One angel, a tall man with blue eyes, digs a hand into Cas's hair and yanks his head up.

Cas's eyes lock onto Dean's. His throat is working, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to speak. "Don't watch," he finally croaks. "Close your eyes, Dean."

Old Blue-Eyes pulls at Castiel's hair roughly, and Dean glares over his shoulder at Raguel. "What are you going to do to him?"

Raguel walks a few steps backwards, Dean stumbling after her, still caught in her iron grip. "Zachariah put some thought into how to interpret this for your eyes," she says, shoving Dean against the dank wall. "This is the traditional admonishment for angels who trespass the way Castiel has trespassed. It is impossible for humans to understand. The nearest translation I can manage for you is Pure Fire."

"You're going to burn him?" Dean swallows. He struggles to move, but some invisible force is holding him still, his back and arms pinned to the wall.

Raguel shakes her head. "Always so literal, you humans. Castiel must be reminded of his place among his brothers, and to do that, we must bring him low. He will be made to open his grace to us."

Dean looks across the space of the ten or so feet between him and Castiel. The other angels are cutting the rope from Cas's wrists. His hands fall to the floor to support him. One angel, a woman, touches Cas's forehead with her index and middle finger, and the blood and bruises disappear. Castiel blinks both eyes, now healed, and shares Dean's gaze.

"Do not watch," he repeats, his voice still shredded.

"You _will_ watch," Raguel informs him. She has still not addressed Cas, as if he's garbage, as if he's nothing to her. "That is the role of the witness." She passes a manicured hand over Dean's face, and Dean finds he can't look away, can't shut his eyes. They're trained on Cas and his determined expression. Dean still isn't sure what's about to happen, but he's got a feeling it's not going to be good. He steels his jaw, tries to lend Cas a little of his resolve. He gives him a small nod, as if to say 'don't worry, I'll think of something.'

Cas is still dressed in his tax account get-up. The blue-eyed angel leans down and grabs Cas's tie, wrenching it from his neck. Two other angels, a woman with light hair and a black man with a shaved head, are prodding Cas onto his hands and knees, working at the clasp of his belt, tearing the trench coat from his shoulders. A dozen other angels stand silently behind them, watching like statues.

Dean still doesn't get it, tries to connect what he's seeing with other forms of torture he's seen, or undergone, or given. Pain can be inflicted much better on bare skin, nothing in the way, no protection. But if they're just going to beat the shit out of Cas, why bother healing him? Unless they plan to beat him over and over again.

But there are no blades, no knives, no more blood. There's only Castiel, being stripped naked on the floor, and the blue-eyed angel unzipping his pants and shoving his hard dick against Cas's stubborn, closed mouth. And then Dean gets it. And wants to fucking murder Zachariah and Raguel and the rest of the host.

"He doesn't deserve this," Dean grits out between his teeth. He's pretty sure no one does.

Raguel crosses her arms over her chest, watching the scene play out before them with a bored look on her face. "It is only an approximation of what is truly happening to Castiel. His grace will be violated, which is fitting; he is so very cagey about ever sharing its light with anyone, even his closest comrades. He will be shamed and used over and over, but he will also be given a kind of pleasure, the kind that comes from communing with his brothers as he is meant to. You should be grateful, Dean Winchester, that Zachariah saw fit to show your eyes this instead of the true act. Seeing that would turn your eyes to coal and your brain to water."

"I tend to come back from shit like that," Dean growls. He watches as Blue-Eyes yanks on Cas's hair again, forcing his dick past Cas's lips when he gasps. The other two angels have placed themselves behind Cas where Dean can't see. Cas tries to shy away from their touch, but their hands are on his hips, and the angel he's sucking off won't budge.

Dean doesn't think he can watch much more. "Jesus, stop! This is what you do to family?" he snarls. "You assholes are no better than demons."

Raguel slides her eyes over Dean dispassionately. "Demons would force you to join Castiel in paying for his crimes. Shall we do that, since we're no better than demons?" She holds her hand out, palm parallel to the ground, and lowers it slowly. Dean feels his legs shaking, giving out, and he's crumpling to the floor on his knees.

"No!" Castiel has turned his head away from the blue-eyed angel's hard cock to speak, his hand flung out toward Raguel as if to stop her. His eyes are wide, whether with panic or shock is anyone's guess. "These are my transgressions, not Dean's. Do not touch him."

Raguel looks over at Cas, her eyebrow hooked high in expectation. She is waiting.

Cas swallows. "Please."

The slim hand raises, and Dean is back on his feet.

"Thank you, brother," Castiel breathes, his shoulders slumping a little. "Thank you."

Raguel does not respond directly, but instead says to Blue-Eyes, "Eremiel, you may continue. I expect Castiel will be more amenable now that he understands what is at stake."

Cas looks up at the guy, Eremiel, and opens his mouth willingly, taking that cock between his pinked lips and allowing it to fuck into his mouth. Cas's eyes flicker over to Dean, then they close tight.

"Harut, Marut," Raguel calls to the blonde woman and black man, "he is ready. Begin now." They nod, turning and beckoning to the crowd of angels behind them. The angels move in with synchronized steps.

Dean tries to reason with her one last time. "Cas is a good soldier. You don't have to do this."

In the corner of his eye, Raguel shrugs, her arms folded across her chest. "I don't _have_ to do anything, not since Our Father left. But Castiel carries the seed of rebellion within him, sown in such a short time of living among the humans. I must rein him in now before he gets out of hand."

The two mismatched twins, Harut and Marut, coax Cas onto his hands and knees. He goes down with only a second of hesitation: he looks at Raguel, then Dean, then allows himself to be positioned to the Ruts' liking. They splay his legs wide, nudging his knees further apart with their loafers. One angel after another approaches, running their hands along Castiel's skin, the dip of his spine, the swell of his ass, the back of his neck. Eremiel joins Cas on the ground, kneeling before him so his erection is once again level with his mouth. He gestures to it like he's royalty, like he's doing Cas a favor by letting him suck it. Cas takes him in his mouth obediently, but not before Dean sees the tick in his jaw.

"Cas," Dean calls out, but with nothing to follow it up. He just feels like he should say something, do _something_ to help ground Castiel while this fucked-up angel ritual goes on. He doesn't get it. Cas is a fighter. Why isn't he fighting this?

 _I am fighting—what did you call it?—the good fight,_ , says a voice in Dean's head. It's Cas, it's his voice, low and grating. Dean stares at him, wondering if he imagined it, because Cas sure as shit can't speak with that dick stuffed in his mouth.

 _You are not imagining it,_ Cas responds dryly. _We can speak between our minds here._

Dean swallows. Glances at Raguel, who is slouching near the wall, examining her nails. _Can the bitch listen in?_ he thinks back.

 _She could_ , Cas responds. _I do not think she will not begrudge me this, though._

Dean tries to tear his eyes away from Cas to gauge the truth of this, but Raguel's face shows a stunning lack of reaction. She's watching a few of the angels grasping Castiel's hipbones, slotting one of their brothers into place behind him. Cas stiffens, his back going rigid underneath the hands of the angels. His jaw slackens for a moment and Eremiel's dick falls from his lips. He's getting fucked by his brother, who's disguised as some skinny guy with floppy hair, and what part of this isn't messed up to the extreme?

 _Try to concentrate on something else_ , Cas thinks at him, and Dean can feel Cas's teeth gritting together in that statement. Eremiel clamps a hand to Cas's jaw, tilts his face up. He's fisting his leaking erection, brushing the wet head against Cas's bottom lip. And Dean isn't able to look away, can't even fucking blink.

 _Kind of hard to let your mind wander when your friend is getting gangbanged by the whole heavenly host_ , Dean returns. He swallows in sympathy when Eremiel finishes, painting white lines across Cas's face, up and down his cheek, across his mouth. Another angel pushes in to take his place, except this angel is wearing a woman as a meatsuit. For a minute Dean thinks maybe she'll give Cas a reprieve, maybe wipe away the sticky fluid, but she doesn't. She opens the fly of her pantsuit and pulls out her own hard cock.

Dean's surprise must be palpable, because Cas explains in his mind: _We aren't constrained by our vessels here. Muriel can appear however she wishes._ He leans forward to lick tentatively at the underside of that throbbing cock, thrown off-balance by the angel pounding away behind him.

Dean feels tears spring to his eyes, a sympathetic reaction to seeing Muriel thrust her dick down Castiel's throat much too fast. _Are they hurting you?_ , he asks, with the implied _they'll be hurting too once I get out of here_ lingering in the back of his mind.

 _It's not painful, not in the way you mean_ , Cas says. _What's more distressing is my grace. It's very...exposed._

Cas pulls away from Muriel with a cough as the angel fucking him slows with a final pump of his hips. That angel is replaced with another, lining his dick up to Cas's ass and thrusting in smoothly. He starts pounding away, and Muriel pulls Cas to her with a hand on the back of his head, forcing him to take more of the cock into his mouth.

Dean tries to fixate on what Cas just said and not what he's doing. _You've never done this with any of them before._ It isn't a question. _Jesus, Cas, when you told me you'd never— I mean, I just assumed you meant with humans. You know, on earth._

Muriel comes with a growl, and Cas is choked with it, a white stream dribbling from the corner of his mouth. _Though we have no gender, angels can and do commune with each other, after a fashion. I chose not to._ Cas wipes at his chin with the back of his hand, panting slightly. _I'm sure Zachariah took great pleasure in petitioning for this punishment._

Their glassy eyes meet, and Dean doesn't need to formulate his thoughts into words for Cas to understand what he's thinking. A good chunk of it involves boiling Zach in holy oil.

 _When we get out of here..._ Dean promises.

 _No, Dean. You must not seek revenge._ Cas grimaces as the angel riding him from behind finishes with a long, low grunt. Dean can see the come dripping down the inside Cas's thigh, glistening and slick. _That would not be prudent._

Harut and Marut come to some kind of silent agreement and manhandle Cas onto his back. Another angel, this time a short, dark woman, slips in between his spread legs. Other angels spread Cas open further, grabbing his ankles and holding them in place against the concrete floor.

 _You can't let them get away with this_ , Dean says. He's curled his hands into tight fists, his fingernails biting into his palms.

Cas turns his head and stares at Dean from his place on the cold ground, his body shuddering with every thrust. _They already have_. His eyes are pleading. _Please, Dean, try to think of something else. Something that might distract me._

Dean shifts against the hard wall, his muscles already tensing to the point of knots. He's trying not to follow the movement of that angel on top of Cas; she's grinding into him in a way that makes Dean's throat dry.

He gropes for a topic, but nothing suitable comes to mind. Telling a story about Sam or some joke about one of their cases seems like it would be in very poor taste. Castiel prompts him, _Tell me what driving is like._

 _Driving?_ Dean can't think straight, not when two of the angels, who had been standing by patiently, take out their cocks and jerk off over Castiel's naked chest. _It's, uh, it takes some getting used to at first. When I was first learning to drive, I had no sense of distance, you know? I didn't get that when a car in front of me slowed down, I had to slow down too. Nearly rear-ended a bus full of old ladies outside of Pastor Jim's place. He was—well—a friend of the family._

Castiel seems to sense this is a sensitive subject, so he doesn't ask why Jim was teaching Dean to drive instead of John Winchester, or what happened to make Jim a "was" instead of an "is." He just says, _Were you frightened?_

 _Nah. It was kind of fun._ Dean can't look away, has to watch as Cas is covered with load after load from the assembled angels. It's dripping down his flank, collecting in the dip of his navel, striped across his thighs and chest. And between his legs, his cock is erect, red and angry with neglect. Dean's not sure what to make of that, but he can't stop staring.

Castiel picks up on the thought and says, _Dean, please. Don't._ He tries to hide himself with his hands, but Eremiel and Muriel grab his wrists and pin them high above his head on the ground. He turns his face away from Dean, and a wordless wave of shame washes between them.

 _Sorry_ , Dean thinks back. He tries not to dwell on his own erection, pulsing in his jeans, swelling with every new angel that comes on Cas's skin. _I'm sorry._

From the corner of his eye, Dean can see Raguel pacing back and forth, slinking along the wall with her arms crossed over his chest, a smirk blooming on her lips. He feels a burning flush creep up his neck. He wants to tell Cas he doesn't have to cringe away, that he understands, that a few years in hell ensured he understands all too well, but he doesn't think Cas needs to hear about that right now.

 _I know what they did to you on the rack_ , Castiel whispers in his brain. _I healed every single one of your wounds._

 _Yeah. I know. Thank you._ Dean's eyes trail back down Cas's body. _Still. I'm sorry._

Raguel loses her patience then, striding up to Dean and sizing him up with her metallic gaze. "Muriel," she calls over her shoulder. Muriel is currently holding Cas's chin in place so another angel can come neatly on his lips; she glances up from her work. "Dean Winchester is not unaffected by this performance. Do you think Castiel should be made to service him?"

Cas struggles in earnest then, bucking against the angel fucking him, trying to wrench his arms and legs from the grip of his captors to no avail. Dean's eyes go wide, unblinking. There's a scuffle amongst the angels; they each grab a handful of Castiel, an ankle, an elbow, a hunk of hair, and drag him toward Dean. They stop a few feet from Dean, who is panting against the cold wall, cock fat and throbbing in his jeans.

Harut gives Cas's shoulder a hard push, and he bends over with a gasp, his nose so close but not touching the bulge at Dean's crotch. His sea-glass eyes travel up Dean's body to meet his forced, steady gaze. Dean struggles for something to say, wets his lips with his tongue.

Castiel speaks first, but to Raguel, his neck wrenched sideways to look at her steely face. "You swore he was to be a witness only."

Raguel runs a sharp, red-painted fingernail down Dean's chest, catching lightly on the flannel. Still she does not direct her response to Castiel. Instead she hisses in Dean's ear, "Do you hear that little hitch in Castiel's voice? It is a token protest. He would suck whatever you placed between his lips, he would not care. That is Castiel's downfall."

"Yeah? At least he's not some sicko bitch," Dean grates out. A bead of sweat runs down his temple and disappears down his neck.

Raguel continues as if Dean did not speak. "I would never allow an angel's grace to be sullied by human touch. That is the purpose of Pure Fire: to remind Castiel he belongs to us. Not you. Not the earth. Only us." The very edge of her fingernail taps the point of Dean's chin. He stares back at her, as much as he can, anyway, when his eyesight is fastened on Castiel. Raguel seems satisfied, because she turns to the angels and says, "Finish with him."

Castiel remains bent over; he tries to straighten but is stopped by Marut's huge hand splayed on his back while other angels grab his wrists to pull his arms behind him. It's worse this way, because Dean can't help but look straight into Cas's face, his eyes, and see every flinch. One of the angels takes hold of Cas's hips and fucks into him, wet sounds and low slaps of flesh echoing through the room. Come is dripping off Castiel's chin and chest, collecting on the floor at Dean's feet. Angels are lining up to paint their mark onto Cas: against his cheek, into his hair, across his tensed shoulders, the small of his back. Dean watches because he has no choice, and because the way fluid pools in the divot of Cas's back is strangely perfect.

Finally, finally, the last angel takes his turn with Cas, and they all step back, tucking their dicks back in their black slacks. Castiel falls forward, his hands slamming into the ground to catch himself. He looks up at Dean, still defiant even with the coating of come on his face.

One by one, the angels leave, blinking out of existence until the only people left in the room are Castiel, Raguel, and Dean.

Raguel waves a hand at Dean, and he comes unstuck from the wall. His arms feel awkward and heavy, his legs like lead weights at the end of fishing line. He glares at Raguel, ready for a fight, but she only looks at him wistfully, like she wishes there could be some other outcome.

"I will send you back to earth shortly, Dean Winchester. Castiel must stay here for some time yet. He is weakened. I suggest you say farewell."

And suddenly Raguel is gone and they're alone, and Cas is still laying there naked and come-covered. Dean curses while stripping off his flannel overshirt.

"I'm fine. That is not necessary," Cas says, but Dean shoves the shirt over his thin, shaking shoulders anyway.

"Gonna gank the whole fucking bunch of 'em, just you watch," Dean mutters. "Self-righteous assholes, think they can do whatever they fucking want."

"No, Dean, they—they are right." Despite his protests, Cas's finger clutch at the edges of Dean's borrowed shirt, pulling it tight around his shoulders. His head nods in absent-minded self-agreement. "They are right. I don't serve humankind. I was fashioned to defend heaven. That is my purpose, and I have not been fulfilling it as I should."

"How can you say that? How can you even think this is close to okay?" Dean can't stand the sight of Cas's face, slick with come. He strips off his tee shirt and, before Cas can protest, starts wiping away the worst of it.

"This is just how things are," Cas says, so soft and quiet. Dean slides his soft cotton shirt across Cas's cheek, and Cas leans into the touch, resting his head in Dean's palm. "I was made to follow my brothers. It should be the only thing I'm capable of doing; it should be easy."

"Then how come it's not?" Dean asks. Cas doesn't answer. His eyes are closed as he leans against Dean's steady hand. "Things can change, Cas. You can make them change."

Cas pulls away then, sits up with his legs folded underneath him. He gnaws his lower lip, considering. "Perhaps. But I cannot allow you to remember this, Dean," he says. He holds up two fingers, which shake slightly between them. "It will consume my remaining power and impede my return to my vessel, but it is necessary."

Dean dodges the touch, ducking to the side. "What the hell? I don't want to forget what they did to you!"

"I'm sorry," Cas says, "but if you hold onto your anger and go against the host, you will be in great danger and I can't—" He lowers his hand and looks away, his face pinched. "I won't be able to protect you."

"Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself," Dean says.

"No." Cas shakes his head. "Not against them." He turns back and presses his fingertips to Dean's forehead. "Go back to earth. I will try to return to you as soon as I can."

Dean swallows, reaches out and brushes his hand against Cas's bare thigh. "Cas, don't—"

But it's too late, and Dean is gone. Cas slumps against the wall, feeling the last of his strength bleed from him. He fingers the hem of the flannel shirt, still draped across his shoulders, sticky with fluid. Raguel appears, standing tall above him.

"You have learned nothing," she sighs.

"I have learned enough," Cas returns. "I will obey all orders. I will come when summoned. I will not linger on earth, and I will fulfill my duties."

Raguel stares down at him, beautiful and cold. "And yet you will do all this for the sake of a mortal man, and not for the love of your brothers."

Castiel rises to his feet, holding the wall for support. He brings himself level with Raguel's dark eyes, his face hard as stone.

"I see what is within you, Castiel," she says. "You think you can save this boy."

"I _did_ save this boy," Cas maintains. "I pulled him out of the fires, from the deepest reaches of the seventh circle, when no one else could."

"And you think that makes you special. That it makes him special." Raguel leans forward and whispers against Castiel's damp skin. "You are a blunt instrument in this war, a soldier like any other of our number. And he is only of interest because he is the Sword, and the moment Michael steps into his body, he will be torn apart by undiluted grace, and he will be gone, and there is nothing special about that." She pulls back to face him, and her eyes have gone imperceptibly soft. "It is better you come to terms with that now, before it is too late."

Castiel blinks, and Raguel is gone, leaving him shivering and alone in the concrete room.

  
fin

  


>   
> This was supposed to be a totally stupid story about angels getting it on, and it was, but then also I threw in some crap that I guess is supposed to be all foreshadowing for 6.22? I dunno, I didn't mean for it to sound like Angel Sex Made Cas Do It, but a big chunk of Cas going all godly on us is probably due to the fact that his heavenly family is chock full of dicks, and he felt he couldn't turn to them. In conclusion, angels are dicks, but I'd like to imagine they are sexy dicks sometimes, and also I like beating up on Cas. Sorry Cas! (I am not actually sorry.)  
> 


End file.
